Two wrists with fine line black script tattoos reading just and breathe, placed on the inner wrists.

Just and breathe script on wrists

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Two hands are shown with their wrists turned towards the camera, each bearing a single word in black script. The word just sits on the left wrist and breathe on the right, both drawn in thin, even linework with no shading. The ink is solid black against a pale, softly lit background, and the words run diagonally along the wrists.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Script Word Breathe Wrist

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mags had the rigging checked twice before the last house, and still the lights of Hollis Brothers' Travelling Big Top flickered over the sawdust like a dying match. Only forty seats had sold in Carlisle. The ringmaster had stopped counting the empties from the wings and started counting the wages owed instead.

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Jonah climbed the ladder with his hands bound in tape, the way he always did, and Mags pretended not to watch the thin white bands slide up the rope. He had flown with her for nine seasons. The trick was simple on paper: he let go, she caught him at the wrist, and for one second they hung together in the same pool of light. Tonight the drum roll started and she could not find her own breath.

"Just," Jonah called down, grinning, the old signal. Then he leaned out over the net and said it again, quieter, "Breathe." She heard it as a joke at first, then understood it was meant for her.

He released. The air rushed past, the crowd made its small collective sound, and she caught him hard at the wrist. Their grips locked and neither of them spoke. The lights held steady for the length of one swing, and somewhere below a child laughed at nothing.

Afterwards the ringmaster sold the centre poles for scrap, and nobody bought the name. Mags kept the strip of tape he had worn that night, folded small in her coat pocket, and when the bus heaters went cold she would take it out and smooth it flat on her knee until the ink on the back came up faint and grey: his handwriting, a single word, still waiting for her to finish the sentence.